


Meeting Mrs Bond

by cucumber_of_doom



Category: GoldenEye (1995), James Bond (Craig movies), On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969), SPECTRE (2015)
Genre: Children, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Open Relationships, Pets, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cucumber_of_doom/pseuds/cucumber_of_doom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being told about Bond being married comes unexpected.<br/>So does being invited to meet his wife.<br/>When both spouses start flirting with him, Q knows he is in over his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting Mrs Bond

**Author's Note:**

> What if none of my favourite Bond characters died? What if Bond is actually happy? This is the self-indulgent fix-it to make everything better.

Q enjoyed spending time in the little underground refuge he had built for his branch in the old bunkers beneath London. He would even go so far to say he loved it down in the tunnels, safely tucked away from whatever evils the agents faced in the world above. At least from most of it. Q made sure of that. The change of scenery – no matter how tragic the circumstances – couldn't have come at a better moment: Relocating Q-branch shortly after taking the position was a clear cut from his predecessor. Most of his colleagues had started under the old Q in the old rooms; moving had been the necessary nudge to get some of the more pig-headed to accept him as their new branch head. Change was hard for some people but clearly necessary. The comments about how Major Boothroyd used to handle things had decreased massively since the move.

He liked his freshly renovated workshop, he liked his job. He did not even mind working late on most days - he had known from the beginning that the position did not involve regular hours – but today Q couldn't wait to get home, feed his cats, take a bath and finally sleep. 

The cleanup after Bond's latest stunt and the complete destruction of the former MI6 building had kept the agency even busier than usual, while at the same time their running operations needed the same level of attention as always. The solution was extra hours for everyone.

When he booted down his desktop computer and heard the door open, Q stopped himself from cursing. The downside on being located in the tunnels was that no one ever made the trip unless the reason was important. Off course it had to be now, after five nights of barely any sleep at all and watching Bond drive off with his newest conquest. The last bit stung a little more than Q liked to admit.

Q finished packing his messenger-bag and demonstratively sipped up his parka to leave no question about his intention to call it a day. When he did turn, he came face to face with Bond, who wore another one of his immaculate suits, this time dark blue. Q let out a sigh and heaved his bag onto the desk. The agent may look good, but that did nothing for his sleep-deficit.

Q was unsure if Bond was aware of the full extend of his persistent crush on the older man. Life, Q knew, would be easier once he managed to get over it. Or at least turning down the agent's requests would be. He had proven in the past how bad he was at saying 'no' to the man. Which didn't mean he wouldn't put up a token effort.

“Back already, 007? I thought you had driven off into the sunset with Doctor Swann. Is the honeymoon over already?” he quipped, one hand pushing up his glasses, the other fiddling with the broad strap of the bag.

Q looked like hell with how little he had slept the past few nights. He could not even remember if he had taken the time to shower during his short stop at home this morning. Possibly not. And now Bond eyed him like a potential target. He would have been secretly happy about the attention if not for how badly he wanted to sleep. Wonderful. Whatever trap Bond had set: he had walked right into it.

Bond's lip twitched.

“The drive into the sunset was more of a drive to the airport. Madeleine already wanted nothing more to do with me before she was kidnapped and almost dying did not make her change her mind. With a bit of luck I am the last agent she has to deal with for the rest of her life,” he said. Q lifted an eyebrow.

“Perfectly understandable. She is a smart woman.”

“That she is,” Bond said with the barest hint of a smile. It was enough to grate on Q's nerves. He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and stepped back from the desk.

“Is there anything you actually need or did you come down here to chat and keep me from going home?”

“I actually came to invite you to dinner,” Bond said and Q stopped dead in his movement, heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears. If this was some kind of cruel joke he would send him off to his next mission with nothing but a pack of bright pink paper clips and a rubber band.

“My wife really wants to meet the man who resurrected the Aston Martin. Are you free tomorrow evening?” Bond continued after a pause.

Q stared, blinked, then stared for a little longer while trying to process the new information.

One: Bond had asked him for dinner  
Two: Bond had a wife  
Three: Bond had talked with said wife about Q 

He didn't know how to process this, staring into space until Bond snapped his fingers. Q flinched and focused back on the agent.

“Are you listening, Q?”

“Yes. Sorry. I was trying to wrap my head around you being married,” he said, shaking his head and trying his best to sound indifferent. He failed miserably.

Bond watched him fidget, probably amused by how uncomfortable he made him feel.

Suddenly looking serious, Bond reached into his pocket. The movement had Q on edge but he relaxed when he saw that it was nothing but a folded piece of paper that was placed on the edge of his desk.

“It is not something I bring up a lot. But you impress me,” Bond said, fixing his eyes on the quartermaster and pushed the paper towards him. Q picked it up, unfolding it suspiciously. All the creamy paper contained was as address, written in a familiar script. He looked up at Bond, the man watching him.

“Please burn it later. I don't want the address lying around. Tomorrow at eight. Please be there,” Bond added, then turned around and left the workshop as briskly as he had entered.

Q shook his head. The whole exchange was surreal. If not for the slip of paper still between his fingers, it might as well have been a dream.

Q frowned down at the note, read the address again and – as soon as he had memorized it – got a lighter from the desk drawer to set it on fire. No matter what kind of game the agent played: Q would never betray his trust. Watching the paper crumble to ash on a saucer, he tried to make sense of what had happened.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

By the time Q left MI6 the next day, he still hadn't decided if he wanted to follow Bond's invitation or not. It was tempting and a disaster waiting to happen. The man was married. And had invited him into his home which was not the address at which Eve had visited him a few weeks prior. A decoy? Nothing surprising, not for someone like Bond. 

In the end his curiosity won and Q exited the tube a few stations early, purchased a small bouquet of flowers at a shop, feeling silly. It was a thing you did when visiting married people, wasn't it? Bringing flowers for the wife?

Q payed for the sad little bunch of flowers, then got on the bus, changing transportation a few times to loose any hypothetical tales. He worked for MI6 - thank you very much - he knew how to not alert people to where his colleagues lived. Especially when those where as private as Bond.

Getting off the bus a station early, he used the extra minutes to calm his nerves. A look onto his phone told him that he was late anyway, if not much. Bond knew how busy it got at work, he would not hold it against him. And if he did, Q had a reason to walk right back out. 

Q walked along a residential street in a nice neighborhood, not too different from the one he lived himself. What he found was a cozy little house with a little fenced in garden in the front and probably a bigger one out in the back. Dark red brick, detached from it's neighbors and with a subtle state-of-the-art security system.

Standing in front of the driveway Q hesitated anew. He would go in, meet the wife, have a nice evening like the adult he was and get finally get over the stupid, entirely inappropriate crush on Bond. 

The gate in the high, black wrought iron fence opened when pushed and Q spotted another camera. Against his expectation, the discovery put him at ease. At least at home Bond was less reckless than in the field. 

Q walked past a flowerbed and a low tree which definitely concealed another part of the security system between its branches. Before he could ring the bell, the door was opened by a petite brunette, who looked a few years younger than Bond, in a purple wrap dress, black pumps and matching, sparkly earrings. Q felt immediately under-dressed in slacks and the same slightly rumpled turtleneck he had worn since morning. His state of dress also wasn't improved by the small, fluffy dog that came running around the corner and jumped up his legs, leaving white fluff where he went.

He cleared his throat.

“Good evening. Mrs Bond?”

He awkwardly clutched the flowers in his hands, then remembered to offer them while doing his best to ignore the exited Pomeranian still sniffing around his feet. Bond was married to a real, existing woman and had bought her what looked like an expensive ring and a tiny, yappy dog. Q was an idiot for coming. 

“For the trouble. Please,” he said, glad when the woman took the flowers and he could go back to fidgeting his hands. She looked beautiful and Q was a fool.

She maneuvered the flowers into her left hand and shook his with the other.

“Thank you. I am Teresa, but please call me Tracy. No one calls me Teresa. And please come in,” she said with a smile. Q let himself be ushered into the pleasantly warm home - still dazed – and bent down to awkwardly pat the dog. He really was more of a cat person and with the bouquet as his security blanket gone, he felt out of place. Tracy, who closed the door, picked up on his mood.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. 

Of course Bond's wife would be observant. Hopefully not too observant or he would embarrass himself even more.

“Yes. Sorry. I wasn't sure if you were real or if Bond was joking until now,” he said, followed by a nervous laugh. Tracy picked up the dog with her free hand and smiled softly.

“I can see why. James really doesn't seem the type until you get to know him.”

Bond chose that moment to enter the small foyer, this time not in a suit but dark jeans and an incredible soft looking, dark blue sweater. What really caught Q's attention, thought, was the blond, sleeping toddler the man balanced on his hip.

“I heard my name?” 

“Yes. You can play host while I find a vase and distract Spartacus so our guest can get out of his jacket without tripping.”

She pecked Bond on the cheek when she walked by and vanished into what had to be the living room.

“I would take your coat, but my hands are occupied,” Bond joked.

Q shrugged out of his parka and hung it on the coat rack next to the door. Only now did he notice the assortment of colourful, kid-sized jackets. More than one kid?

“Your Pomeranian's name is Spartacus,” he stated after a moment, at loss for what else to say.

Bond adjusted his grip on the kid – a little girl if the Hello Kitty clips in their hair were anything to go by.

“We also have a cat named Archimedes,” Bond offered.

“And a kid.”

“Three. The twins are upstairs.”

“Twins. You are full of surprises, Bond.”

Q managed a mangled smile and Bond's face softened. The tiny wrinkles around his eyes did _things_ to Q. They always had.

“I am glad you came, Q.”

Q swallowed, unsure what to do with the sentiment. He wasn't all that good with people outside of professional interactions. The professional thing would have been to politely decline the invitation and get over his crush. 

“I am here, aren't I?” he managed after a pause.

Tracy – sans bouquet and with Spartacus at her heels – returned. The sound of a key turning in the front door didn't visibly alarm the couple. Neither did the man that entered.

Q recognized the former double-oh from MI6. Trevelyan trained the younger agents - often candidates for the double-oh-program and liked to hang out in the gym.

Q had never personally known him during his days as an active field agent, but there were enough stories circulating about him and Bond wrecking havoc, before the former 006 was badly injured during a mission gone terribly wrong. He had survived the explosion and being buried in the collapsed building for more than two days, but was left with a facial scar too recognizable to be of any use as a spy anymore. Q still found him lurking around the explosives lab from time to time, scaring his staff and being a general nuisance. 

“You are late, Alec!” Tracy stated, pouting, but let him kiss her on the cheek in greeting anyway.

“What can I say? I am a busy man. Got important stuff to do,” Trevelyan said with a grin that pulled the scar-tissue on his right cheek. Tracy – obviously unimpressed – poked him in the chest.

“You just wanted to see if he actually shows up or not. You cannot lie to me, Trevelyan.”

He shrugged.

“I can try.”

“Well, you failed. Now take the children and go, we have a guest to entertain.”

Trevelyan rolled his eyes at Bond who shook his head.

“You heard the lady.”

There was a shriek from upstairs, followed by rapid footfalls and two little bodies flying past, flinging themselves at the newcomer. The children looked to be around five or six, Q assumed, both with blond hair a few shades darker than their younger sister.

Trevelyan picked up the giggling little girl and spun her around, finally settling her perched against his hip.

“Hey there, little princess. Have you been good?”

“No! She broke my toy car!” her brother interjected from where he hugged the man's leg, effectively hiding his face.

“I did not! Spartacus stole it!” the girl protested and kicked the little boy, which resulted in her almost wriggling out of Trevelyan's arms.

“No he didn't!”

“Yes, he did!”

“Kids, please, no fighting before we are in the car,” the former agent winced before setting the girl down to take the toddler from Bond instead. His hands now free, Bond used them to ruffle his younger children's hair.

“Q, those are Marco and Georgina. The little one is Anja,” he explained. “Marco, Georgina, say hello to Q.”

“Hello,” the twins drawled in unison, clearly bored by having to behave in front of the strange adult and turned back to Trevelyan.

“Can we go now, Alec?”

Trevelyan opened the door, grinning from ear to ear.

“Of course. First one in the car gets to pick the movie.”

The children ran out and towards the car parked in the driveway. The older ones out of the way, Tracy handed him a bag, which he somehow managed to wrangle without setting down the youngest child. 

“Everything in there?” Trevelyan asked.

Tracy let out a relieved sigh.

“Yes. And thank you.”

“Not for that. Have fun and don't scare him off,” he added with an eyebrow-wiggle towards Q before ducking out the door.

The quartermaster awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Interesting choice of a baby-sitter,“ he said for a lack of anything better.

Nonetheless the comment made Tracy laugh and Q felt some of the awkward tension slip away. 

“Don't worry. Alec wouldn't dare doing anything too dangerous with the little ones around. He knows better than that. But now lets eat and enjoy the evening. You are coming straight from work, aren't you? Then you have to be starving,” she said.

Tracy ushered him through a dimly lit living room to a corner set apart from the rest of the room that had been converted into a cozy dining area with a big, dark, wooden table and matching chairs. 

Q wasn't sure how he had imagined Bond's home, but not like this. The décor neither matched Eve's description of the sad little flat she had visited after the Mexico incident, nor what photographs he had seen from the ruins of the agent's childhood home. The little townhouse was clean but lived in, with some garishly eccentric deco pieces strewn into the mix of classy furniture and forgotten kids toys next to a lit fireplace. It looked like somewhere people were happy. Who was he, intruding on that?

The table was already set, with two steaming white china bowls and a silver serving plate in the center. The scent of thyme and rosemary made Q think of the Mediterranean and warm nights spent under clear skies. Bond pulled out the chair for Tracy and after she was seated, did the same for Q who was too surprised to offer any resistance. What on earth had he gotten himself into?

Bond poured each of them a few inches of wine before sitting down at the head of the table, effectively seating himself between his wife and their guest and not reacting to Q's confusion in any way.

“I hope you like lamb.”

“Bond...” Q tried to interject, but Bond held up a hand, silencing him.

“Please, it's James,” he offered.

Q frowned, sitting stiffly in his chair. The situation felt surreal.

“What are you doing?” he asked. James only smiled warmly. If this was the same expression he used on assignments it was no wonder women kept falling for him.

“Offering you the promised dinner. Please. Let me.”

Q's stomach rumbled audibly, which brought another smirk to James face.

“Can I take that as a yes?” he asked.

Q fought down the urge to roll his eyes before answering.

“Yes, please,” he said, relaxing a fraction.

James went on to serve each of them from the roast lamb leg while Tracy divided the thin slices, of grilled zucchini and eggplant evenly between their plates. Q took in the fine china plates and delicate, high-stemmed wineglasses, along with the simple but elegant cutlery. Did they get out the good silverware for every guest or was this a special occasion? Q admitted, that he had no idea. He did not know enough about the reality of James' private life to make a guess.

Once everyone was served, Tracy raised her glass – a gesture Q reluctantly followed, watching James do the same out of the corner of his eye.

“To a wonderful evening. Thank you for coming, Q. I really needed to thank you personally for restoring the Aston. I was cross with James for getting it blown up, you know?” she spoke before taking a sip..

Q raised his own to his lips as well, barely tasting a thing, which was probably a shame. Going by everything else the wine was bound to be good.

Still: It surprised him that it had been Tracy who had wanted to meet him. Did James talk about him? It seemed unlikely, but so had an invitation to the agent's home until yesterday. Q placed his glass back on the table, not wanting to risk emptying it too quickly due to his nerves.

“Finding suitable parts was a challenge but the car turned out well in the end. I still don't want to know how Bond… James got hold of it in the first place. The less I know, the easier to deny,” Q said, taking a bite from his fork. The meat was juicy and tender and Q became aware how long it had been since his too short lunch-break.

Tracy leaned her head onto a hand while looking at him when she answered.

“I am glad you are as smart as rumored. At least there is someone competent having James' back.”

Q frowned, lowering his hand holding the fork.

“Thank you?”

He did pride himself in how much care he took of his agents but it wasn't something she should know. What _did_ James tell her what his work entailed?

Tracy hid her laugh behind the wineglass in her other hand. The hand adorned by her wedding band. Q swallowed. 

“Don't panic. Of course, James can't tell me any details, but I know what he does for a living. It's how we met,” she explained, setting down the glass. “All I need to know is, that you make sure he comes back to me. And that you work miracles with cars, that is important too. Now stop being afraid of James spilling state-secrets and eat.”

Q noticed he had been gripping the edge of the table and immediately eased of his hand, quickly settling it in his lap, hiding it from sight. His eyes darted to James, who looked way too comfortable in his seat, watching the exchange. Smug bastard.

“You meeting James through work surprises me less than I think it should,” Q finally said and ate a few more bites of roast lamb. It calmed his nerves, having something to do with his hands. A circuit board to tinker with would do more effective, but he couldn't spend the whole evening staring at his plate – even Q knew that. If only the glances James gave him didn't make his skin prickle as much.

He cleared his throat in a desperate attempt to think of a way to make conversation.

“The roast is delicious,” he said after an awkward pause.

Tracy smiled from across the table, fork pausing halfway to her lips.

“Thank you, Q. We have a great caterer. I don't cook if I can prevent it.”

Bond set down his cutlery, smiling warmly at his wife.

“She is spoiled,” he said in Q's direction, voice low as if in secret. Tracy swatted him with her folded cloth napkin, entirely failing to look upset in any kind.

“As if you are one to talk! Don't think I didn't notice that new suit you bought last week.”

James snatched away the napkin, folded it and placed it on the table next to her.

“What can I say? I love surrounding myself with beautiful things and tonight the company is especially enjoyable,” he said, giving Q a long look that made the younger man almost choke on his meal.

Tracy let out an exaggerated sigh.

“That was cheesy, James,” she scolded. 

“But true,” James countered, still with that rare, genuine smile on his face Q found so captivating. He barely kept himself from flinching when Tracy answered. For a moment he had forgotten she was there, right across from him. Q wanted to disappear into the floor, hiding his rising flush behind another gulp of wine.

“'Cheesy but true', I think I have found the title of your autobiography, darling,” Tracy teased, leaning forward onto the table, the low light catching in her sparkly jewelry. Q drained his glass and set it down.

“Could be a bit boring of a read with it being mostly completely blackened pages,” he offered, completely out of his depth. The evening felt a lot like a date, despite Tracy's presence and it confused him to no end.

“Oh, I like him. Can we keep him, James?” Tracy beamed.

“I am not who you need to ask that question. Depends if he wants to be kept,” James said, voice low.

Q sat up straighter. Had James just…?

“Are you hitting on me, Bond?” Q blurted out, eyes wide behind his glasses. The agent only raised an eyebrow at him.

“I have for the past year. And I thought we were past the surnames.”

Q raked a hand through his already unruly hair, than hid his face in it, groaning. 

“Sure. Of course. Why…?” 

Q suddenly felt nauseous. This wasn't happening. Had he misread each and every interaction with James? He always assumed flirting was the agent's standard setting, not something aimed specifically aimed at Q. The man definitely flirted with Eve at any given opportunity, there was no way mistaking it for anything else. But himself? No, he had not noticed.

Finally Q peeked out between his fingers, still mortified.

“Can we try this again?“ he asked around the lump in his throat, trying his best to keep his voice steady.

James opened his mouth, but Tracy put a hand on his arm, silently shaking her head at the quizzical look he gave her.

“James, why don't you pour some more wine and then get the dessert ready while I explain Q all the reasons why he can calm down? Bring it to the coffee table when you are done?”

The couple exchanged a long glance, then James nodded, stood, and refilled both remaining glasses.

“I will be off for a few minutes,” he stated before turning. Q couldn't help but stare at James' ass as he walked off towards where the kitchen had to be.

Catching himself and clearing his throat, Q risked to look at Tracy, who only smiled knowingly.

“Come. It is more comfortable by the fire and I don't think you are going to finish that plate before we had a talk anyway.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Q said automatically, rising from his chair when she did. She shook her head, chuckling, then took both their glasses and gestured him to follow her to the sitting area with it's low and comfortable looking couch and armchairs next to the fireplace.

“Oh please, don't call me ma'am, I'm not that scary. I told you to call me Tracy, you forgot?” she said over her shoulder before settling onto the black suede couch. Q, still insecure, took the matching armchair across the low coffee table. He took a moment to watch Spartacus jump into Tracy's lap, demanding to be petted, which his mistress promptly did.

“So, this is a thing you do? Inviting people to dinner and then… what? Ask them to stay for breakfast?” Q started in lack of anything else to say. No need to beat around the bush, thought he did internally wince at his choice of word. Tracy was in no way responsible for his long-harbored, ill-advised crush on her husband.

Tracy, luckily, didn't take visible offense. Once the dog settled on her lap, she spoke again:

“There are not a lot of people from work James trusts enough to bring them home. Alec is one. The old M used to be another. Now there is you. And don't look so scandalized. M was a guest at our wedding, we didn't make her the same offer James has been failing to make you.”

“Seems more like I have been failing to notice,” Q said dryly. A lot of guilt could have been avoided if he was better at reading people. But their agents where notoriously hard to read, even for people more skilled than him.

“Don't beat up yourself for not getting what James meant. James is a grown man and should have been more direct. Spending all that time trying to find a way that won't scare you off? He really does care about you.”

Q drummed his fingers on the armrest. Could it be that simple? Things seldom where.

“So, you are okay with James walking around and flirting with coworkers, with or without them noticing? In the end it is really none of my business, but I don't want to intrude on anything. Apart from that I still have a hard time thinking about him as married, especially with what he does for a living. He _does_ have a bit of a reputation.”

Tracy leaned back further into the cushions, eyes on Q. She paused before answering.

“We have an arrangement, James and I. And don't look so alarmed, it's not as scandalous as it sounds. Am I always happy with what James has to do? No, not every time. But better he comes home with a hickey than a bullet in his head. I am not ready to be a single mother. When I agreed to marry James, I knew what I was getting into, not only regarding his work and what that often entails. He has a very unique way to express he cares for a person and that took me a while to get used to. The first time I met Alec I wasn't sure it would work, but it did and believe me when I say James cares about you the same way, Q.”

“Are you saying if he cares about someone he wants to sleep with them?”

“It is more complicated than that, but simply spoken: yes.”

Q pushed up his glasses, sighing.

“Of course he does.”

He couldn't claim it came as a surprise. Not with how much the man flirted in general.

“And you…?” he asked, looking back at Tracy, who had been joined on the sofa by a black and white cat, stretching out behind her on the backrest. She reached back over her shoulder to let the cat rub against her hand for a bit until the animal lost interest and started grooming itself instead.

“This doesn't have to be a package deal, if you are concerned about that. Based on what I have seen of you tonight? I wouldn't say no if the opportunity arose, but I won't be offended if it doesn't. Whether it's just me or you aren't interested in women in general. James wasn't sure and neither am I.”

Q leaned forward in his seat.

“You seem awfully sure I am interested,” he said.

Tracy crossed her legs and took up her glass again. looking way more confident than Q felt.

“Aren't you? Because I haven't seen you get up and leave yet. Which is an option,” she said, leaning back again and giving the dog a belly-scratch. Spartacus slid halfway off her lap, wiggling, happily.

Q bit his lower lip, feeling his face grow hot at how he hadn't once thought about saying 'no' or leaving since the offer had been made. The possibility hadn't occurred to him and being honest with himself: he didn't want to, no matter how unfamiliar the situation. Q didn't want to leave. He cleared his throat.

“No. No, I am fine. Just caught completely off-guard.”

Tracy's face softened and Q felt a bit more tension wash away. It was nice not being the only one nervous and gave him a bit more confidence. 

Tracy's hand slowed down as the dog calmed again. 

“You have known James for quite some time and there is no way mistaking the way you look at him. Don't worry, there is nothing wrong with staring at his ass. It is one of my favourite hobbies,” she said.

Q's lips twitched involuntary. He couldn't help but like the woman. Still, there were too many pieces missing to this puzzle and in his experience, making decisions without all available information tended to lead to the worst possible outcome. Another thing bothered him.

“Now, how does Trevelyan fit into all of this? Are you both dating him or how does this work?”

Q watched her lean onto the arm of the couch, thinking.

“We are, but again, that doesn't mean you'd have to, too,” she said, leaving the implication her and Bond had discussed him with the other man unspoken. Interesting, in a slightly unsettling way, but not a deal-breaker.

“And Doctor Swann?” he asked further. At this Tracy shrugged.

“James _does_ get carried away a little bit sometimes. It's what people do in extreme situations. I haven't met her, but according to James, Madeleine didn't want to be part of this world after the adrenaline wore off. She made her decision and I respect that.”

Q sank back in the plush chair, sighing heavily. James had told him the same thing yesterday.

How had he come to know people like this? Signing a contract with the government had sounded more boring than it turned out to be. He had picked the one branch of government work that left no room for growing lazy. 

Q straightened his back again, slowly shaking his head in disbelieve. How was this his life? 

“This kind of relationship is still nothing I am used to,” he confessed.

“In a good or in a bad way?”

Q looked up, frowning.

“I haven't decided yet, but as you said: I haven't run off screaming either.”

“Good for you. And good for us,” Tracy answered, amused smile back in place. Yes, he liked her.

With the most uncomfortable questions out of the way, they both went back to their wine and watching each other less wearily than before. Q was the one to speak first.

“He is taking his time with the dessert,” he observed, while slowly sloshing the the last inch of wine around in his glass. Tracy smiled good-naturedly.

“I am sure it has nothing to do with giving us time to talk.”

“Well, he _could_ come back now,” Q said pointedly, which James took as his cue to reemerge from the kitchen, carrying a tray with three glass dishes on it, filled with what looked like dark chocolate mouse and berries. Q groaned in frustration.

“You where eavesdropping. Of course. How did I expect the spy not to?”

“Language, Q. And people not knowing you are a spy is actually the tricky part of the job,” the agent said, the slightest grin in place, which made Q glower at him in return. Damn agents and their damn ego. Q bit his lip to keep himself from letting any confidential information slip in front of the civilian-wife. It wasn't like Bond had never been found out on the job but he didn't need to rub his nose in it.

“And as always you are doing admirably well,” Q said instead, unable to keep himself from giving James' back an approving look when he turned. He was starting to feel the effect of the wine. While far from drunk he did feel pleasantly loose with the fire adding to the overall feeling of contentment.

“Do I hear sarcasm?” James asked after setting the tray down on the coffee table, nudging one of the dishes into Q's direction and taking a seat next to his wife. Or close to his wife with Spartacus refusing to move.

Q leaned forward, then settled back into the plush upholstery with the dish in his lap. That comment deserved no answer and his appetite was back. Lips still wrapped around the spoon, he made a pleased sound once the mouse hit his tongue. It was sweet and tasted heavily of rum.

“One could think you are trying to get me drunk,” he accused, spooning more of the chocolaty goodness into his mouth. “This is good.”

James looked pleased.

“I knew the rumors about your sweet tooth would be true. And I won't step so low as to use alcohol to take advantage of you, Q.”

“I'd need to be a lot drunker to let you take advantage, but thank you anyway,” Q said, slowly clearing his portion. For a few moments the only sounds were the clinking of spoons against glass and a low crackling from the fireplace.

“You still haven't answered my earlier question,” Tracy said. Q needed a moment to mentally kick himself for drifting off. It was one of those things James did to him and the wine didn't help either. 

“Which question would that be?” he asked, feeling bold all of a sudden. Maybe it was time he did.

Tracy laughed, recrossing her legs to a more comfortable position.

“Earlier I was asking if you are gay or not, but maybe not in those words. Because I would love a chance to touch that fluffy hair of your's but I do have some manners.”

Maybe he wasn't the only one starting to feel the wine's effect. Q cleared his throat.

“I have dated women in the past, just not many. And I am sorry, but I would really like to get to know you better before we… make any decisions. I am not categorically saying no, just not today,” he explained. Tracy shrugged.

“Works for me.”

And like that, the topic was over. 

They finished their desserts without hurry, having settled the most pressing points. Still: the looks both spouses gave him made his skin flush. Tracy would not touch him without him changing his mind, he was sure of that. James on the other hand… Q swallowed. He could do with a bit of touching there.

With a clink James set down his empty dish, gaze fixed on Q.

“Why don't you come over here, Q? It has to be lonely over there all by yourself,” he said and Q took another deep breath. He waited a moment – mostly out of pure stubbornness – then stood, took a step around the table and hesitated. Doubt crept back. What was he doing?

Before he could work himself up again, James pulled him closer, which ended with him awkwardly straddling the older mans lap. He was fine with that.

“You are a ridiculous man,” Q said, face flushed and heat pooling in his belly.

“But you like that, going by the way you look at me. I get paid to notice those things, remember, Q?” James teased, his hands settling warm and heavy on his hips. After months of pining from afar it made Q's stomach flip. James was real and solid beneath him. Definitely not a dream.

“James…”

James lightly traced the waistband of his slacks, slowly slipping beneath his sweater. The first bit of skin-on-skin-contact made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. This was happening. Q could have this. He only needed to take what was offered.

“You've got anything to back up all that talk with, agent?”

When their lips met it sent a surge of heat down his spine, settling in his belly. Q leaned forward into the kiss, his hands going around James, carding through his hair. It was surprisingly soft. It had never occurred to him that anything about the agent could be soft. Being soft didn't fit the image of him Q had in his head, but neither did kissing him. Q liked things going better than expected.

James pushed up his sweater, both broad hands slowly stroking up his back while Q deepened the kiss, experimentally nibbling the other man's lip. It was a good idea, going by the low rumble James let out and Q did it again. And again.

One of Q' hands staid stayed in the agent's short hair, fascinated by it, the other traveled down his chest, still above the soft fabric of his sweater for now. James hooked his fingers into Q's belt-hoops, pulling his hips closer against his own. Q gasped into the kiss. This was more than a year of sexual tension finding an outlet and he wasn't sure if wanted to take it slow, common sense be damned. James felt good against him, warm and rough and terribly sure of himself. He wouldn't make the mistake of treating Q like he was fragile, knowing he wasn't. Q had proven that a long time ago.

Q rocked his hips, earning him another groan and a hand clutching his arse. His pants grew uncomfortably tight at the implication coming with it. Q had spent enough evenings fantasizing about what it would be like, holding James' undivided attention and the reality lived more than up to imagination.

“We could have been doing this for months if you had said something earlier,” Q breathed, lips hovering above James'. The hands underneath his sweater made him feel hot.

“I have been told hitting on co-workers is considered unprofessional,” James teased, groaning low in his throat when Q leaned down to gently bite his ear.

“That never stopped you in the past.”

“Maybe I am growing as a person.”

“There is certainly something growing,” Q said, provocatively grinding down against the erection poking him from beneath. He had sunk down to the agents level of cheesiness. Wonderful. He didn't get a lot of time to thing about his choice of word. James kissed him again, hungrier this time and Q had more important matters to deal with.

They were disrupted by Tracy shrieking. Both men's heads snapped around to see her clutching her ear, trying to keep the cat from attacking one of her dangling earrings. James barked out a laugh, almost dislodging Q, who held onto his shoulders not to topple over backwards.

Still breathless, James picked up Archimedes one handedly, put him on the floor and shooed the wiggling cat off, the dog following with his tail wagging.

“Are you alright?” James asked, while Q stared dazedly at his spit-slick lips, still seated on James' lap. Only when Tracy spoke again did he look up. The situation was absurd and he couldn't be happier.

“Yes. I should have known Archie would love those earrings a little too much.” She smirked at Q, who turned an even darker shade of red. “Don't stop on my account, I quite enjoy the show.”

“I don't know. What do you think, Q?” James asked, mirroring his wife's smirk.

“I think I would very much like to, but my back will thank me tomorrow if we don't shag on the coffee table. I assume you have a proper bedroom in that fancy house of yours?” Q blurted out, then hid his face in the crook of James neck. So much for acting confident. “Did I say that out loud?”

James patted his back.

“You did and I like the sound of it. I would like to get you naked some time soon.”

“Smooth,” Q commented dryly, but stiffly climbed off the other's lap, then offered him a hand which James took. Q looked up at him. The nervousness wasn't gone, not completely. The arrangement was too new and too unusual to feel completely at ease with yet, but what Q had seen of the couple, he was willing to try. He knew he was attracted to James and Tracy was not hard to look at either and fun to talk to. It could work, if he did not fuck it up. Not like he had dreamed of, but it could be something. Maybe.

Q looked up, still holding James hand, then used his free one to gesture towards where he had seen stairs earlier.

“Well, lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe there will be more fics set in this verse, maybe not. I haven't decided yet.
> 
> If you want to see me ramble about writing and a lot of random blogging, visit my [tumblr](http://cucumber-of-doom.tumblr.com/).


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